Observations

New Norm | Buttercup of Doom 2.1



This week I lament over the new norm: the stupid things society just accepts because they’re common. From emulating stupidity to demeaning terms like baby mama and side chicks, I have opinions… and a potty mouth. *NSFW* this week for Language.

Available FREE on: PEN Project Entertainment Network • iTunesStitcherAndroidTune-In • Google Play Music • Overcast

Sponsors: Kelli Owen’s FORGOTTEN | Subculture Corsets & Clothing (and twitter) | Kelli’s Patreon

Suggestions/Requests: n/a (to suggest/request use the form or post on FB)

Mentions/Shoutouts and Linky-Links: Cheers

Hashtag Hell: #norm #common #cold #america #bizarre #peanutbutter #flag #fortunecookies #christmas #thanksgiving #blackfriday #halloween #candycorn #cheese #tipping #tips #politicalcorrectness #society #apocalypse #sidechick #babydaddy #babymama #genX #tab #Mtv #meme #subculturecorsets #facebook #twitter #instagram #PEN #projectentertainmentnetwork #buttercupofdoom #podcast #kelliowen

Coming up: friendzone – adulting – genre – and whatever you suggest I whine about. So suggest something, already!

b’cuz…werds | Buttercup of Doom ep 18

BODep18-bcuzwerds300Available FREE on: Project iRadioiTunesStitcherAndroidTune-In
This Week’s Rating: R (NSFW) — buttercup ratings system info here

In this episode… I talk about words ‘n stuff. How they’re used versus how they’re intended. Including who’s abusing them and who’s destroying them—as I 101 on contract verbiage, drop the f-bomb in a 2-1/2 minute audio of a video you should all at least watch once, vent about the tricky way people use, or don’t use, words, and wrap it up with a word we need to just get rid of. It’s a whirlwind…

Sponsors: SANTA!! And Santa says you should Xmas shop at these fine places: Gypsy Spirits | The God Beneath My Garden, by Robert Ford | JF Gonzalez’s The BelovedSunrise Soap Co. | Robert Swartwood‘s novel LAND OF THE DEAD | Shroud #10, Halloween 2010 | Kealan Patrick Burke’s SOUR CANDY | Kevin Strange’s Texas Chainsaw Mantis | Mehitobel Wilson’s Last Night at the Blue Alice | Anathema, book 1: The Evil Men Do, by Rachel Deering | Reel Splatter Productions | Lamplight Magazine

Suggestions/Requests from: not this week (to suggest/request, use the form here)

Mentions/Shoutouts: Writer’s DigestThe F Word (video) • My facebook post re: shootings, guns & hugs • Lamplight Magazine | 3 Guys with Beards

Hashtag Hell:  #gypsyspirits #robertford #jfgonzalez #robertswartwood #shroud #halloween #kealanpatrickburke #kevinstrange #mehitobelwilson #racheldeering #reelsplatter #lamplightmagazine #words #contracts #f-word #f-bomb #bbc #ancientaliens #curseofoakisland #clickbait #facebook #twitter #instagram #projectiradio #buttercupofdoom #podcast #kelliowen #santa #xmaslist #xmas

And don’t forget — for advertising inquiries, contact me at buttercup@kelliowen.com

Superstitions | Buttercup of Doom ep 13

13bod-superstitions300Available FREE on: Project iRadioiTunesStitcherAndroidTune-In

Because this is the 13th episode, I thought it would be appropriate to discuss Superstitions, and because I promised last week, Urban Legends. From Bloody Mary to the Hook Hand, from black cats to pop rocks, from the truth to internet hoaxes, we cover campfire frights and facebook fallacies… I ask a couple questions (join conversation/answer here), I offer up some readings and links, and I request something of YOU this time. I hope you had a great Halloween, now come enjoy your sugar hangover with the Buttercup of Doom!

Sponsors: The God Beneath My Garden, by Robert Ford | Shroud #10, Halloween 2010

factcheckSuggestions/Requests from: not this week (to suggest/request, use the form here)

Mentions/Shoutouts: Bloody Mary Snopes | Halloween-Website • Try Guys facebook | youtube • Kevin Lucia • Steven Gilberts • Danny Evarts • werewolf cat • Urban Legends Onlinesnopes

Robert Ford’s video readings on facebook — Georgie | Early Harvest | Samson & Denial (teaser) | Racing the Milk

This Week’s Rating: PG13

And don’t forget — for advertising inquiries, contact me at buttercup@kelliowen.com

Hashtag Hell: #robertford #bobford #amazon #bloodymary #snopes #urbanlegends #superstitions #tryguys #costumes #trickortreat #hallosmile #blackcat #werewolfcat #shroudmagazine

 

Ghosts | Buttercup of Doom ep 10

BODep10-Ghosts300Now Available at Project iRadio!

In this episode … This week, there is no real venting, only discussion. Discussion I’d like to open up with the listeners, so pay attention, get your questions & comments ready, and let me know what day you want to do this creepy periscope thing. That said, we cover 2-sentence horror stories to get in the Halloween mood, and drag those kicking and screaming into the kiddie pool of atmosphere. I send you to download a funny app because smiles are good for you. We discuss, at length, ghosts—as requested—and even a bit of a religion as necessary to further the discussion. The wrap up includes a deep thought and fun assignment… if you dare! Oh, and I created my own rating system… with a grin.

Sponsors: Robert Swartwood‘s novel LAND OF THE DEAD | My ghosts WILTED LILIES,

Suggestions/Requests from: our friend from the north, Ron Dickie of Canada asked “Do you believe in ghosts?” and I answer… (to suggest/request, use the form here)

Mentions/Shoutouts/Promised links: iFunny | 5lb Gummy Bears | My old blog post about the haunted house | Burning Questions — see below for this week’s Q&A, assignment, etc.

And don’t forget — for advertising inquiries, contact me at buttercup@kelliowen.com or use the form

  This Week’s Rating: PG13—GAD

Discussion includes: (My own little “glads” system… and a giggle)
G – god, or religion in general
L – language (s/sh*t, f/f*ck, x/truly tabboo words, g/genitalia mentions)  
A – adult themes
D – drugs
S – sex or sexual situations
RR – rock and roll =)

 

Burning Questions… This week I asked for a couple things for interaction, use the comments section below to answer:

1. “Do your religious beliefs/views, or lack thereof, play any role in whether or not you believe in ghosts?”

2. (a) Are you interested in creepy voyeuristic Periscope discussion for this podcast episode?
(b) Thurs or Friday (to be held at 8.30pm EST)

3. Go ahead… try a 2-sentence horror story that answers the question “Where do ghosts go when you tear down their haunting grounds?” Or just discuss your thoughts/answer to the question.

Please, if you attempt the 2-sentence scary story, note it as such with #2sentencehorror at the end (and I’ll post the few I used as examples). Thank you, and thank you for listening and playing along!!


Paper Dolls

paperdollToo much death lately.

First it was my nana. Nana was tough. Is still tough some days. Then we lost a women I once called Ma who’s son I never married but who’s grandchildren I used to plan in swirling hearts on school notebooks—I still don’t know what to call her twenty-five years after her son and I broke up. (What the hell do you call the mother of your first love, whose house you basically lived in for several years? I haven’t even seen her since we unexpectedly buried one of the gang fifteen years ago.) And now…now my aunt Jean.

They come in threes. I can be done now, right?

I told you about Nana. I started a blog about Ma B, but I can’t figure out what to feel, let alone say. My aunt, though? Shock. Tears… followed by the numbness of denial, then on to anger, and back to tears, all happened in the span of the phone call from my mother Saturday. I spent the rest of the day just trying to absorb the reality, bombarded with memories.

As I sit here, in the stillness of insomnia’s hours, I am realizing now how lucky I was to spend as much time with family as I did when I was growing up. I had sleepovers with Aunt Jean much like I did Nana. And the strongest memories of her and Uncle Jim are from those times, not just the visits. While there are many memories, there’s one that seems to jump up and yell for attention, repeatedly haunting me throughout the weekend. The paper dolls.

See, my aunt gave my sister and I paper dolls to play with. For those who don’t remember or just don’t know, these are thin cardboard cut-out figures in underwear with tabbed clothes you hang on the body (see picture). My first attempt to over-analyze why this memory seemed so needy was the innocence of it. We used to actually play with paper. No cell phones, iPads, Xbox or internet. Paper. There’s something about generational innocence there that seems to want to be said, but doesn’t really need to be, because everyone knows it, gets it, sees it. It just is. Times change, entertainment changes, blah blah change. So I let that analysis fade away and went back to the memory itself.

My aunt didn’t just hand them to us and walk away. They weren’t something to occupy us. They were something to do with us, to broaden our imagination, and explore our artistic side. She gave us the dolls and clothes, but then she pulled out paper, and colored pencils (I remember her having to sharpen those over and over with a knife—ah the old days), and sat with us. She showed us how to make our own tabbed wardrobes. We spent hours doing this, on many sleepovers, for several years. I remember thinking how artistic we were for getting to use the colored pencils instead of crayons. I remember tracing the dolls and designing—from clothes to shoes to even the hair, we could dress them up fancy or down to earth, give them blond hair or brunette, hanging down, in a pony or under a hat. We could change their appearance, and with it, the two dimensional illusion of personality, wants, desires, hobbies and habits.

And that’s where the little analyst in my head jumped on board and latched on.

Paper dolls were an introduction to the various masks we would wear throughout our life. We were just learning to put them on something else first, before testing the waters with our own naked selves. As we grow and evolve, our fashion changes, our outward appearance changes, our public attitude and persona change. What we show the world is nothing more than a tabbed piece of paper, lovingly cut out of our imagination and hung precariously from our shoulders. Some outfits we keep until they yellow with age or get torn or lost in the mix of things. Others we try out and shed as quickly as a new divorcee plays dress-up to find herself in the lost pieces of wardrobe. But they’re all just that, outward appearance. The paper doll underneath remains naked, fragile, vulnerable to the elements of time.

I’m going to miss my aunt horribly. For so many reasons. She was the record keeper for our lineage (the last blood gypsy of her generation), the maker of paper dolls and sharpener of colored pencils, and a champion of the arts (she was a rosemaling master, and her eldest an artist). And as is with all who pass on, I will cherish the memories, and take from them the lessons they offer…

Which, in this case, means I need to make new outfits for my paper doll self. I need a knife to sharpen the colored pencils, and with that, maybe a band-aid.

 

Offend This…

fuckoffoffensive  adjective
1. causing someone to feel deeply hurt, upset, or angry.

I call BULLSHIT. When did humans become such big babies? Offensive is nothing more than a made up word. It is designed to shift the blame away from the person choosing to take offense and dump guilt and/or subjective shame onto the person expressing their opinion. Someone’s right* to voice their opinion is now less important than that opinion being globally acceptable, making it now the fault of the person thinking, speaking, or acting freely according to their own beliefs, ideals, morals, or just stupid thoughts. Because yes, we are entitled to have our very own stupid thoughts. All of us. As often as we want. And we are allowed to share them, with friends, enemies and anyone who will listen. But we are not allowed to force other people to believe them, buy them, or even feel guilty because we had them. Apparently, therein lies the confusion. We each need to worry about ourselves, rather that being so overly concerned policing everyone else that we don’t even notice we’re worse than what we’re judging…

My mother taught me at a very early age that no one else can make you feel anything. You choose to feel it. And holy shit is everyone choosing to be offended lately. By everything… on the 24-hour channels of television, twitter, facebook, and anywhere else the planet has gone and given voice to everyone (including me, the irony isn’t lost, trust me) so they can have their little spaz attacks at 140 characters a blip, 50 million blips a second. Bullshit. All of it. And quite frankly, I’m sick to death of hearing about it. I cannot even count anymore how many times a day I see something and think “So? Get over it.” Now it’s my turn.

Grow. The fuck. Up.

You wanna believe in god? Good for you. Hope it helps you sleep at night. Leave me out of it. And hey, maybe keep in mind: the same rights that give you the power to believe, give other people the right to not agree with you. Until you convince the big man himself to come on down and smote someone on live television, nothing you think, say, or do will make you right and them wrong (including and especially, judging others… pretty sure it says right there in that super duper magical tome of yours “judge not lest…” how’s that go? Lest you get cheesecake? No, that’s not it. Oh yeah, don’t do it cuz your ass is gonna be judged by your god and you’re gonna have some ‘splaing to do. God called, he wants his book back.) Some of the best people I know are dirty rotten atheists. Some of the most horrible I know are Christian. I don’t blame their character on their belief or disbelief, quite the opposite.

You wanna be pissed off about Henry Rollins’ personal opinion? Tough shit. He gets to have one. And good for him for having the balls to say what he felt. Did I adore Robin Williams? Absolutely. Am I sad he’s gone? Absolutely. Will I pretend to understand what he was going through or why he made the decision he did, and therefore judge either him or anyone with an opinion about it? Nope. Did I think Henry Rollins owed anyone an apology? Oh hell no. Henry had the same rights to an opinion as Robin did to action. Don’t like what Henry said? Too bad. But hey, isn’t it cool how you have a right to not agree—however, you have to choose to be offended. Oh and pssst, Henry, *holds universal telephone hand gesture up to ear* call me. We’ll do drinks.

You wanna have some psychotic pseudo sex-police spaz because a comic book has a sexy woman on the cover? Are you freaking kidding me?! I wish I had Spider-Woman’s new ass. Almost as much as I bet some people (men and women) wish real boys had packages like those portrayed on Spiderman, Batman, and the rest of them in the fictional world of ink and paper. Screw that. Seriously. It’s a freaking comic book. Pick a real issue to have a fit about. Don’t know any? Watch/read the news for ten minutes. While you were whining about a drawing, several thousand people died for no good reason… in a couple different places…

Gonna dump a bucket of ice water over your head, donate the money, do both—good for you. Or did you plan to do neither and just bitch about it instead, without even looking up what the hell the cause even is? Get over yourself. ALS (and other issues, diseases, causes, etc that have been changed-up in the challenge as it spreads) is now not only collecting a metric butt-ton of money, it is doing exactly what it was designed to do: spread awareness. I bet you’ve heard of it now. Ignore it if you want, but could you do it quietly? Maybe with a shiny red gag ball in your face (you can find those at any outlet sex store currently riding the coat tails of 50 Shades of Gray, another topic everyone including my blind, deaf goldfish has an opinion about). You’re having a fit about a charity is not only painful to watch, it’s showcasing your inbred issues. Why not just go to the children’s ward at the cancer center and tell them all to stop whining and die already? Because seriously, that’s how stupid and insensitive you sound. Hope you or anyone you know is never afflicted with any medical condition…

Enough? You get it? Good, now shut the hell up and hug someone. And before you hop up on the soap box using your social media outlet of anonymity, perhaps you should use the soap to clean the windows in your glass house and take a good long look in the mirror. We are dust, people. That’s it. There’s a huge ass universe out there, Earth is but a dot among many, and we’re each less than a spec on it. We can’t control nature, we can’t stop time, but we can try and get along with each other. We don’t all have to agree—hell, it would be boring if we did—but we do have to co-exist, with reason rather than force. Don’t like something someone said or did, walk away, turn the channel, unfriend them, whatever. Just do it without choosing to be offended and thinking they owe you an apology. They don’t owe you shit, other than respecting your freedoms and life and not taking either from you.

Oh and really, Henry… call =)

*obviously I’m speaking of places where freedom of speech is a right, so don’t be a dickhead and try and come back with some lame argument for other places.

 

 

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